Christmas in New York
December 8th, 2025
Writer: Nicolina Kane
Editor: Sophia Wohl
It’s nearing the end of the final dread. The past two weeks have been full of stress after the tease of being home with family and hometown friends for Thanksgiving — only to return to campus before I get to do it all again in December. Now I’m back in my childhood bedroom, wondering how it feels both familiar and foreign at the same time.
I swear I’ve only left for a semester, yet somehow my hometown bagel shop knows my order by heart as if nothing has changed. Home feels comfortable and healing in ways I didn’t realize I needed. And even though I try to convince myself that I’ve outgrown this place, I secretly crave the simplicity it brings, especially around the holidays.
Living on Long Island is nothing short of a dream. 15 minutes from the beach and a forty-five minute train ride from New York City — where the cold air bites harder and the buildings glitter like they’ve been saving their shine for December. The chaos of crowded sidewalks beneath Rockefeller Center, the hot chocolate that burns my tongue a bit too quickly, and the echoing carols dancing off the walls as I walk past Radio City. I call it chaos, but deep down, I know it’s magic. Standing in front of that massive tree, bundled up with my breath fogging the air, life suddenly feels youthful again.
But I’ll admit something: I take it for granted. I hear people say they’d give anything to visit the city at Christmas time — that it’s on their bucket lists, that it looks like a movie come to life. And here I am acting like hopping on the train is just another part of my routine. Sometimes it takes someone else’s excitement to remind me just how lucky I am.
I juggle the double-life of a college student home for the holidays: driving past my high school where I was a different version of myself. Nostalgia is tucked into every backroad, the excitement pulsing with every train ride back into Manhattan. I see my own eyes light up when I look at the Rockefeller tree; it's a feeling I will never truly be able to explain.
I often remind myself that New York is not just streets and stores, not just traffic on the LIE or the rush through Times Square. It’s the realization that no matter how far my life expands, it will always stretch back here. It’s laughter over a one dollar slice pizza that tastes better than anything near campus. It’s that spark in my chest when the tree lighting reminds me I’m part of something bigger, and have been since I was a little girl.
Eventually, the lights dim. The snow melts to slush, ornaments return to their boxes, and the city exhales into winter’s stillness. But the feeling stays. It lingers in the photos on my camera roll, in the stories I’ll tell my roommates back at school, but more importantly, it’s in the confidence that comes from remembering exactly who I am and where I come from. Since attending school so far away from home, I remind myself that distance may shape me, but home defines me.
I am a Long Island girl celebrating Christmas in New York City — and though the season brings me joy and comfort, I also promise myself not to overlook the magic again. This place grounds me, reminds me who I am, my fortune, and brings me back to myself just in time to begin again.
